


TGK's Drabble Collection

by TheGrinningKitten



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrinningKitten/pseuds/TheGrinningKitten
Summary: A collection of drabbles of varying quality so that I can have them all in one place instead of spreading them all over the web, unsearchable.See chapter summaries and notes for more info on each one.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	1. Almost Sleeping (Blueberror, Error)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueber teaches Error how to manage his mental health better.
> 
> Setting: Inky and the Glitches Multiverse (post-AskError; Ink, Blueberror and Error all live together in the Doodle Sphere).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some swearing

"Don't pretend you can actually sleep."  
  
Blueberror notes how Error's voice sounds more tired than hostile and inwardly smiles. This is one of Error's more mellow moods then.  
  
"I'm not pretending." He opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times before looking up at Error. "And it has nothing to do with sleeping. Well, almost nothing."  
  
"The hell does that mean?"  
  
Instead of answering, Blueberror pats the ground beside him in invitation.  
  
They're inside the Doodle Sphere, at the roots of the huge faintly glowing tree that takes up one of the many floating islands. Blueberror calls it their home. Error calls it their base of actions. Ink calls it a lighthouse, because he's an idiot.  
  
When Error doesn't move, Blueberror pats the ground again, more insistently this time. Error scowls and makes it a point to sit down a few feet away from the other. Blueberror does his best not to snicker at the glare he's receiving.  
  
"Well?" Error prompts.  
  
It's tempting to tease him, but he needs the other's compliance right now, so the upcoming bout of teasing — quite like the snicker — gets smothered early. "I'm meditating."  
  
"I call bullshit."  
  
"How so?" _Composure, Blue. Keep your composure._  
  
"You think I'll believe you can think nothing?" He winces. "With all this racket going on?"  
  
Blueberror mirrors the wince, since this is the moment when the Voices decide to be extra loud just in case their existence was somehow forgotten. If only.  
  
"So yeah, that's bullshit."  
  
"Meditating isn't about thinking _nothing_ ," Blue corrects him. "It's about controlling what you focus on and putting your mind in order. Alphys… Alphys and I," he's glad his glitchy voice hides the way he hesitated just then, "we used to do that all the time. It helped with her anxiety, and I got even better at my training, mweh-heh-heh!"  
  
The laugh at the end there isn't exactly necessary, but he sees Error relax somewhat. Blueberror knows the other doesn't like reminders of his past — neither of them do — and shoving the differences in his face seems to help, actually.  
  
"What does that have to do with sleep?" Error finally asks, instead of voicing his annoyance.  
  
"Well, I figured, since I can't keep my mind space organized by sleeping, I'd try meditating instead." Blue shrugs. "And it works. Not as well as sleeping does, but it works."  
  
"So what?" He tries to look disinterested. Blueberror sees right through him.  
  
"If my thoughts are in order, then I get to plan ahead better and regret less. Y'know, better focus, less brain fog. All the good stuff."  
  
Error starts fidgeting.  
  
_Come on, say it!_ It's so hard to sit still, when he's almost at his goal.  
  
"How do you do that?" Error finally asks.  
  
_Don't grin, don't grin, don't grin!_ Blueberror reminds himself mentally, since it will ruin the set up he has at hand — but it's so hard not to! He's got Error right where he wants him — hook, line and sinker.  
  
"First off, you need to make sure you're comfortable," Blueberror shifts in place to illustrate the point.  
  
Error gets the hint and his posture softens.  
  
Blue nods. "Now, close your eyes and focus on something periodic. Usually people use breathing."  
  
"We don't need to breathe, idiot."  
  
"Yes. I used to focus on dripping water." He can feel Error's glare even with his eyes closed. "Right now there's a glitch on my shoulder that shifts in a cycle, so I use that." When the glare doesn't leave him, he adds, "Try it."  
  
With a sigh and a few muttered curses, Error seems to finally follow his advice.  
  
They stay silent for a moment. Ink is away on some business of his — which, hopefully will last a few more hours — so the only sounds around them are the static of their glitching, the gentle murmur of magical weather on some of the floating islands and the hum of magic in the air. And the Voices, of course.  
  
"This is bull," Error growls.  
  
"If you get distracted, just go back to focusing," Blueberror says. He must've guessed right, because the other doesn't complain further.  
  
They spend some more time in silence — if you don't count the times Error gets frustrated and Blue has to offer gentle encouragements.  
  
It's nice.  
  
Blueberror doesn't regret it in the slightest.  
  
Even if he did, he certainly has no regrets when a few months later Error's "mellow" mood stops being such a rarity.


	2. Hourglass (Reaper, Error)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper and Error discuss the issue of mortality.
> 
> Setting: Inky and the Glitches Multiverse (post-AskError; Ink, Blueberror and Error all live together in the Doodle Sphere).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some swearing

"It's like an hourglass," Reaper provides and, under Error's confused stare, adds, "Like, every person has an hourglass, and once the sand runs out, they die."  
  
"Tch, really?" Error snorts.  
  
"Nah. People came up with that one," Reaper chuckles. "It does look classy in pictures though. You know, somber and stylish and-"  
  
"Reaper. The point," the glitch reminds.  
  
Reaper feels a shiver run down his spine. The voice is different and the looks are too, but the attitude. It takes conscious effort not to start comparing. "The point. Right." Oh fuck, he's staring, _and Ge- Error sees him staring, and…_ "You're _dead_ set on getting answers, huh?" A chuckle. "Can't blame you, it's to _die_ for!"  
  
Those aren't his best jokes, but the corners of Error's mouth twitch, and he looks away with a scowl and a snort. Reaper considers it a success.  
  
"Okay, so maybe it's not _that_ amazing," Reaper admits. "But imagine having an hourglass. Geno… Geno's was stuck on its last grain of sand — ready to fall, but never falling.  
  
"Yours, however," Reaper pauses just to stare at Error, collecting his thoughts. "Yours never stays the same." Error gives him an intense but not entirely disbelieving look. Death wishes he could be just as unconcerned. "One moment it's running like normal. The other it's run through all of its sand already. And the next moment it's overfilled and bursting from the pressure. And-"  
  
"Figures." Error shrugs, nonchalant, making Reaper choke on his indignation. And to think, he expected the other to at least act surprised. Though, what did he expect? Geno always had a way of-  
  
 _No. Nope Stupid thoughts! Not now!_  
  
"What about the ink stain?"  
  
That rips Reaper out of his thoughts. "Huh?"  
  
"The ink stain. Ink." Error takes the continued lack of response as confusion rather than stumbling thoughts and clarifies, "Shorty. White bones. Huge scarf. Even bigger paintbrush. Annoying as fuck."  
  
"Nah, I know, I know." Reaper holds his hands up to stop him. "Met him before. Well," here he hesitates, remembering the artist, "if I really did."  
  
"Since when does death have faulty memory?"  
  
"Not what I meant." He shivers. "He's not alive. Period. No hourglass at all."  
  
Again, Error is unperturbed. "Figures. No soul. Like trees and animals."  
  
"That's the thing — he's not."  
  
Finally — finally! — Error tenses. "What?"  
  
"I mean, he's rock-and-metal kind of not alive." Reaper stares at his hands, clenches them to push down a shiver. That artist, Ink, is unlike anything he's ever seen — and, unlike Geno, he is like that on his own, no time-stopping dimensions involved. And last time he'd made an unexpected discovery, he-  
  
"Or dead body kind of not alive."  
  
"Huh?" Reaper looks up sharply.  
  
"Like a dead body. Only moving around." Error sounds contemplative, but, really, he's not alone.  
  
Reaper ponders this statement as well, and the more he thinks about it, the more anxious he becomes, until...  
  
"I need to check something." As much as he loathes to leave Ge- _Error_ when he's _finally_ managed to drag him into a conversation, he needs to check something. _Now_.  
  
Error doesn't get a chance to say anything else, before the reaper is gone.


	3. The Spark (Reaper, Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper asks Life to save a child.
> 
> Setting: implied AfterDeath; canon to Inky and the Glitches Multiverse

There are life's little inconveniences that — after enough exposure — you learn to live with.  
  
Like sun waking you up when you were planning to sleep in.  
  
Like rain starting right when you're in a mood for gardening.  
  
Like Death killing a patch of vegetation when he comes to visit.  
  
You know, the little things. Life is used to them by now.  
  
So when she feels grass wilt behind her back, announcing Reaper's arrival, she doesn't dwell on it. Instead, she smiles, ready to greet her lover.  
  
"Tori."  
  
He sounds so lost and so torn that her smile fades away and a silly joke dies on her lips, unspoken. She turns around to face him.  
  
Reaper is standing there, hunched over a bundle of white fabric he holds in his hands. Toriel doesn't need to ask him what's inside — it's a tiny spark of life. A soulling.  
  
"Tori… please…" Reaper whines, not quite sure himself what he's asking for, but it's enough to make her snap out of her stupor and rush to his side.  
  
Inside the plush cocoon is a tiny inverted heart, hidden inside a transparent magical shell and giving off a barely visible, pulsing glow. Sometimes there's a flicker, and the air around it seems denser — but only for a second. It takes Life a moment to realize it's the soul trying — and failing — to construct a body.  
  
This is odd. Not something she's used to. Not the way people are in this universe. But that doesn't stop her from reaching out to cradle the tiny being in her palms, to envelop them in her flame, trying to give them all the support she can.  
  
Reaper steps away the moment the soul leaves his arms, as if his presence alone can tip the scales. Yet the unease keeps him leaning in, tense, watching, waiting.  
  
"They're not from here?" Life asks, even though the answer is pretty obvious.  
  
"What?" He shudders, blinks up at her. "They… they… No." He's back to watching the tiny soul, as if his momentary distraction could be their undoing. "No, they aren't."  
  
She stays quiet for a bit, soaking the soul in her magic, waiting for them to accept at least a tiny bit, _please, just a little bit_.  
  
And her silent plea is heard. The glow gets a little bit stronger, a bit steadier.  
  
"Tori?"  
  
"They're stable for now," she confirms, letting the roaring flame of her magic turn into gentle wisps. "I'll keep doing what I can, but Sans," she looks straight at Reaper now, waits until he meets her eye and only then finishes, "you know my power is limited here."  
  
"I... I know." He nods numbly. "I know"  
  
They both know. Here, in Reapertale, their godly power is unparalleled, but outside... They may be the gods in the other universes, the guardians of the forces entrusted to them, but the lives there will always be somewhat beyond them.  
  
They're quiet for a little while, simmering in the pain of that understanding.  
  
When she decides to break the silence, she hesitates before asking, "They're... yours and—"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She says nothing else, only looks at the god of death, waiting — even though Reaper refuses to meet her eyes. And that's all it takes for the dam to break.  
  
"We thought they'd be okay. He's okay. Kind of. So we thought they'd be as well," he's rambling, unable to stop. "So we let it happen. We tried. But then they didn't form. And they dimmed. And they—"  
  
"Sans."  
  
He shudders and makes himself take a deep breath. Toriel doesn't dare take her hands away from the soulling, so she leans in to kiss his forehead instead. Carefully, she sits down and waits for Reaper to join her on the ground, lean into her side.  
  
It's quiet again. Then:  
  
"He asked me to take them outside, Tor. He wanted them to see the sun at least once in their life."  
  
She wants to say, that they will see the sun with their own two eyes, wants to say that everything will be okay. But she doesn't know that. So she settles for the best she has.  
  
"I'll do my best, Sans. I promise."  
  
He nods, not taking his eyes off his child.


	4. Among the Bookshelves (Nightmare, Ink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink and Nightmare have a conversation.
> 
> Setting: a precursor story to Spectrumverse, I guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore Ink and Nightmare being friends, and this was pretty much the first step towards it!
> 
> Warnings: flippant use of "sociopath" and "psychopath"

There's something really special about being in a library, Nightmare thinks as he runs the very tips of his fingers over the book titles. Something really special indeed.  
  
He soaks in the quiet atmosphere of the spacious room as he picks the books to take with him. His tentacles help him collect those, wrapping gently around the thick tomes to avoid damaging them. He will take this one, and this one and—  
  
"AHEM!"  
  
Nightmare pauses upon hearing the theatrical cough, momentarily startled, then smirks. There's only one person he knows who can hang around him absolutely unnoticed. Then again, there's only one person he knows who would see the Master of Negativity and decide that coughing dramatically would be an appropriate response.  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, Nightmare says: "Don't pretend to have manners. It doesn't become you."  
  
Behind him, half-hanging off the railing that separates the bookcases from the reading area, is none other than Ink.  
  
"Wow, Nighty, rude much?" the artist teases in return, mischievous grin only getting wider.  
  
Nightmare chuckles, shaking his head and turns back to the bookcase. Ink's the one person in the whole Multiverse, who can easily sneak up on him — and also the only person he trusts not to stab him in the back.  
  
"Niiighty," the artist hums.  
  
Nightmare sighs. "I just got here, and I made sure no one saw me."  
  
"Your aura's still getting everywhere." Soft noises of clothes and bones shifting come from behind Nightmare's back, and when he turns around, Ink is somehow lying down on the narrow railing. "You gotta go." Despite the nature of the message, the artist doesn't make any effort not to look like a lazy cat.  
  
"Ten more minutes?" Nightmare grins. Ink considers it, shrugs, and the guardian of negativity returns to the task of seeking out the books he could use, grumbling — mostly to himself: "It's not my fault it's the positive universes that have proper libraries. Why are the books always the first thing to go when a universe tilts into negativity anyway?"  
  
"I don't make the rules."  
  
"Yeah-yeah." Nightmare adds another book to the stack in his tentacles and throws a sly glance over his shoulder. "If you're so bothered by it, you could just copy this library for me."  
  
"I _create_ stuff," Ink sounds almost offended. Almost. "If you want a copy you should ask someone who works with code. Like Error or Blueber. Buuut..." There's more shuffling, and Nightmare doesn't need to turn around to know that the artist is consulting the notes on his scarf. "Blueber's is currently in the Omega Timeline, and I don't think he's left it in the past few... somethings. You could always make a deal with Error though."  
  
Nightmare chuckles then. "Yeeeea-no. I make it a point not to make deals with psychopaths."  
  
"Oh really?" Ink laughs. "Why are you making deals with me then?"  
  
"You're a sociopath. There's a difference."  
  
Ink laughs louder. The sound suddenly cuts out, and there's a loud thump, a muffled, "I'm okay!" and then more laughter. This is one of the rare times, where the bright joy is harmless, and Nightmare indulges himself, joining in with some quiet chuckles of his own.  
  
He tugs another thick tome off a shelf, then checks the subject matter of the next bookcase, then the one after it, sighs and announces, "Guess, I'm done here. You can take over now." He turns around just in time to see the other's head pop up above the railing.  
  
"Aw! Don't I get something special for my trouble?" Ink asks and, when Nightmare only blinks at him, deadpan, adds in his best "woe is me" voice: "You're going to leave now, and I'll be stuck doing all the work fixing this AU."  
  
"Did you mean to say, 'You're going to leave now, and I'll drag Dream in here to do all my work for me'?" Nightmare quirks a brow.  
  
Ink sticks his tongue out at him in return.  
  
They stare at each other for a moment, and Ink tries hard to pout, even though it's clear he'd rather be laughing instead.  
  
"I should be able to come visit you later this week," Nightmare offers finally, and that makes the artist light up. The guardian of negativity chuckles at the excited puppy sort of look the other has, and forms a portal. "Until then."  
  
He smirks at the cheerful "See ya, Night!" that reaches him before the portal closes behind him.


	5. Touching (Cross, Killer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross notices Nightmare and Ink keep touching Killer.
> 
> Setting: post-core-event SpectrumVerse (Nightmare, Dream, Ink, Cross, Killer and Lux all live together in restored DreamTale; Nightmare isn't goopy anymore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: vague allusion to child abuse (only suspected by a character, doesn't actually happen)

Cross isn't sure when it started and who's the one who started it. But one day he just... notices how touchy-feely Nightmare gets with Killer. A pat on the shoulder there, a tap on the wrist here, and palm laying flat between the shoulder blades as they talk...  
  
Cross is ready to file it under "not my business" and do his best to ignore what he thinks is a relationship between these two... until later that day Ink comes back from his AU patrol — and does pretty much the same things. In plain view of Nightmare. Who doesn't react in the slightest.  
  
"Okay," Cross thinks, "so it's a three-way relationship."  
  
He doesn't exactly believe it, but he doesn't want to ask.  
  
However, now that Cross is aware of this, he starts noticing just how often the touching happens. He doesn't question that about Ink: the guy has very poor idea of personal space. Nightmare, however, is very private when it comes to showing what's behind his usual aloof demeanor — and yet he has no qualms about touching Killer even in the presence of just about the whole household.  
  
He also has a startling realization that there's one other person who keeps touching Killer when they talk to him — and that's his daughter. She's always holding him by the hand or hugging him or sitting on his shoulders. Considering the guess he made with Ink and Nightmare, the thought makes him grow cold inside, no matter how absurd this fear seems. However, the only unnerving discovery he makes from talking to Lux is the fact that Killer taught her the most effective places to stab people — and even then it's softened by her saying:  
  
"Uncle Killer says I only do that if none of you can help."  
  
His fears are dispelled, but the mystery of it all is slowly driving him insane. Until one day he finds that he can't take it anymore. Asking Ink is out of the question — there's no way it's not gonna end up in a disaster — so he approaches Nightmare when he's alone in the library.  
  
He stands there, by the armchair, hesitating, long enough, that Nightmare looks up from his book, eyebrow curled, "I don't need to be a guardian of negativity to know you're really want to ask something." When Cross remains silent, the last shreds of amusement leave Nightmare's expression. "Come on, spit it out."  
  
"Why do you and Ink keep touching Killer?" Cross finally asks, louder than intended. It was also worded way worse than intended either. "I mean—"  
  
"Shush." Nightmare holds his hand up to silence him. He closes his eyes — he's making sure no one else is in the earshot, Cross realizes — then sighs and opens them to looks straight at Cross. "Killer gets hallucinations."  
  
Cross blinks. Then blinks again.  
  
Nightmare lets out an exasperated sigh and elaborates, "Sometimes he can't tell if anything's real or not. By touching him we let him know we're real."  
  
The look on Cross's face must be telling enough, because Nightmare rolls his eyes and goes back to reading. Cross silently leaves the room.  
  
Later that day he comes across Killer in the kitchen, making himself a snack. After a moment's hesitation, Cross adds a soft pat on the shoulder to a quiet "Hey, Kills". As he's searching the fridge for his chocolate milk, he can feel Killer's eyes on him, but when he turns around, the other's simply grins and jokes. Cross answers with a quip, and it devolves into their usual banter.  
  
If in the days that follow it suddenly becomes easier to be around each other... well, neither of them ever mentions it.


	6. Force of Habit (Cross)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross gets used to having an easy fix for some problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: gratuitous angst; missing a limb, a panic attack (I think?)
> 
> Written for no reason other than to be mean to Cross :P

Like any habit, this one is born through repetition.

It starts small. Cross gets a little too cocky in a fight and a stray projectile leaves him missing a distal phalanx. It's not really painful, but his grip on the knife feels awkward now, and he's mentally cursing his clumsiness when Chara pipes up.

_"Just fix it."_

"What?"

_"Ugh, don't tell me you found a new way to be stupid!"* Chara moans as if this conversation is physically painful. *"Put your finger back together, idiot."_

When Cross doesn't immediately do just that — because what is he, a wizard? — the human groans again.

_"Just roll back the changes. It's not rocket science."_

"If you're so smart, why don't you—" Cross stops himself before he can finish that sentence. It still results in a smug remark from Chara though.

It takes him a good half-hour to figure out how to do the rollback, but eventually he ends up staring at his very whole and unharmed hand.

Neat.

It doesn't end there though. Cross was prepared for just about any threat inside his own universe, but inside the vast Multiverse the extent of how fucked up things can get is only limited by imagination, it seems — Their imagination, if what Ink said is to be believed.

So it's not rare that he gets injured. At times it involves missing bones — not just phalanges but whole limbs sometimes.

It's only scary the first few times.

Then he gets… sort of used to the idea of bringing his bones back in a matter of minutes. And it becomes the new normal.

"Cross!" Dream gasps by his side. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that's because Nightmare has just chopped off his left arm — the stump of his humerus stings as it bleeds.

"I'm fine," he insists. And he will be, just as soon as they find a way to ditch the octopus.

They eventually do, and they find themselves in a hotel room in one of the kinder universes.

Dream gets to cleaning the wound, and Cross lets him, just to give the guardian of positivity something to do instead worrying himself sick. Everything will be fine soon anyway.

…

_Chara is gone._

The sudden realization chills him down to the marrow.

_Chara is gone, and so is his Overwrite ability._

The implications of it don't completely register though. At first he's just staring into space as he tries to summon up the familiar ability — it's habitual, like muscle memory. But nothing changes. Dream doesn't stop fussing at his side. His body weight still feels lopsided.

So, slowly, he blinks and turns his head to stare at his left arm. Which isn't there. No, there's just Dream, trying to wrap up the stump. But the arm isn't there. It will never be.

Something shifts inside of him, and Cross isn't sure what it is, but it must be bad, because suddenly Dream's worried face fills his vision, hands holding the sides of his head. He's saying something, but the sounds don't make sense. Cross blinks, slowly, and when his eyes open, he sees a golden glow and feels something warm and positive and _wrong_ forcibly smash into his very soul.

And this is infinitely _worse_.

With a sob, he shoves Dream away — _get away, don't touch me, no, please!_ — and curls up, hides his face in his knees and lets out a silent scream. After all, keeping a low profile has long since become a habit too.


End file.
